Sunday, September 15, 2013

Working on Normal

Having lived alone in a dark cave for twenty-three
years, I've picked up bad habits that don’t translate well in urban society—in
any society for that matter.Rousseau
was absolutely wrong: civilization doesn’t corrupt and nature isn’t
blissful. I’m finding it hard to
adapt as I exit one world and enter another.You see, my friend, I landed this great teaching job a couple of years
ago and I desperately want to fit in.Problem
is, I’m still not ready for public consumption.We all have hang-ups; we all have peccadillos.(I once ran over a peccadillo on a Kentucky
highway, yet I still have my flaws.)But
I’ve been disturbing my colleagues at the office because I talk to myself, sigh
loudly, grumble, and grunt.One of the
administrators, a pleasant young woman with ostensibly good intentions, had the
audacity to come over to my cubicle and bring these outbursts to my attention.Listen, when you’ve lived in a cave for over
two decades, you learn to entertain yourself.I tell people that I don’t talk to myself per se; rather, I’m working
through issues or testing how something might sound in the classroom or on the
stage.Such explanations don’t matter,
however.I’m just the guy who talks to
himself.

I was raised by a she-wolf out in the wild long
before my cave years.I yelp and scratch
my crotch ferociously when things don’t go my way.This ogre-like behavior has cost me
friends.Faculty steer clear of me and I
worry that my job is on the line.The
tattooed guys at the local coffee shop look at me askance.Who wants to serve an ogre coffee?When I suckled my mom’s teat, along with her
pups, little did I know that I was imbibing lifelong rustic habits. During committee meetings I mimic the sounds of flatulence with my armpits. I still mark my territory when I’m at
home.Guests usually head for the door
when they see my trousers starting to foam. Yes, I’m rather uncouth, but please be
patient: I’m working on normal.